ROFLsaurus Ryro
by ink and ashes
Summary: I adore a beautifully written Ryro. But this is what I keep reading. Rated for  Im?Mature Audiences Only.


**R O F L s a u r u s . R y r o **

The swirling clouds forewarned a terrible storm on the horizon, completely annihilating any chance of scheduling outdoor activities for the day. A flash tore across the sky, a howl piercing through the air gone heavy with sorrow. A strange gust of wind assaulted any who dared venture forth from the safety of their homes and the intensity of this onslaught brought forth the image of the weather goddess.

Was Storm throwing another bitch-fit?

Unable to contemplate with all of the unnecessary shrieking—those winds were _fierce_—Rogue jumped down from her conveniently placed daybed and scrambled away from the trembling windows. _Oh John, I hope you're okay… even though I totally hate you because you left with Mister I-Tried-to-Kill-Rogue. _She was bitter and angry; betrayal always left the taste of bile in the back of her throat. And, _of course_, the blond pyrotechnic still haunted her troubled and crowded cerebrum… even (insert number here) year(s) after Saint John Allerdyce switched sides. Having imprinted him in her psyche, his echo lurked around _up there_, enrapturing her imagination in her severe boredom. She had absolutely nothing to do and sadly, it was a Saturday night. Perhaps she would brood over her inability to touch. Or, better yet, how her horribly insensitive boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, because she just wouldn't take his shit anymore—had completely shattered her fragile self-esteem by dumping her for that ponytailed _pixie _with the face of a five-year old.

Not only had Robert "Iceman" Drake encouraged her to take the _Cure_ for his own, selfish reasons, he had used her physically until he'd had his fill… and then promptly cheated on her. Or had he cheated on her before? Regardless, he was a Bad Person that had Violated Her Trust and Abused her newly-found Ability To Touch, so he was an asshole and she was now obligated to cry and whine incessantly until someone came along to sweep her off of her feet… or bitch-slapped the living fuck out of her.

Then, of course, there was the fact that her skin had become poisonous again.

"My life sucks," said the melancholy shadow of a girl. She transformed into the overly emotional, completely out-of-character young woman that called herself Marie.

On a whim, Marie decided to venture out into the world, deciding that staring at absolutely nothing was a lot better than having personal conversations. With _herself_, even though all mutants seemed to have a severe Multiple Personality Disorder. She slunk through the halls of Xavier's grand mansion, unintentionally throwing out major Vibes-O-Doom (trademarked) at any unfortunate passerby. The Wolverine was one of them; coincidentally wandering through the halls in nothing but a pair of (insert color here) sweatpants. Who knew what that man was doing, perusing the Girl's Wing of the mansion, but she did not bother to dwell on the subject. She would very much prefer to _not_ think about Logan trying to sniff out a piece of tail amidst a floor of amorous females; everyone knew that _all_ girls thought about was sex and boys and sex with boys. And if you did not, you had some Serious Issues, or were homosexual… in which case, you _still_ thought about sex.

"Hey, kid," came the not-on-purposefully gruff voice of the fuzzy, be-clawed mutant. "Where ya goin'?" He chewed upon the edge of his giant cigar while drinking from a glass with swirling, amber liquid. And he flexed. He switched poses, his bulging muscles trembling with strength. "Do you need protection? I know how completely helpless you are, being a _girl_ and all."

Marie shook her head; a rogue tendril of Doom (trademarked) snatched a screeching mutant with the tentacles of a Colossal Squid and devoured him with relish. She burped, covering her mouth for propriety's sake. "Ah'm fahne," she drawled, stretching the two syllables for an eternity until Logan remembered that she was from the South. Because you _totally_ could _not_ forget that she has an accent and she is a self-proclaimed _Southern belle_. Born on the bayou, baby. "Are you still grieving over Jean? You can confide in me; I promise not to molest you."

Logan's eyes bulged, nearly escaping that thick skull of his. "I don't roll that way," he blubbered.

This confused her. "Is it the skin thing?"

He shook his head. "You don't have _boobs_, darlin'."

Marie stomped away from him, grabbing another surprised mutant—a girl, this time—with her Vibes-O-Doom (trademarked) and promptly ate the nameless female whole. Overwhelmed with mortification, she randomly wandered away from the grounds, her feet following a path she had never taken before. After (insert number here) hours of mindless walking, she found herself somewhere near Central Park, sitting on a bench. By this time, fat drops of rain pelted her awesomely-striped hair and she growled menacingly at the Heavens for weeping upon her. _It took a long time to straighten_, she wailed.

As luck would have it, the treacherous mutant Pyro—a sex god and Lord of Bad-Assery—had decided that this shitty weather would be the best time to possibly invoke the wrath of his Old and Troubled Boss—which could result in anything from a stern lecture to physical abuse—by sneaking out for a walk ridiculously far from their Base of Operations. When he spied the sullen brunette sobbing hysterically on a wooden bench, he felt that _Fraternizing With the Enemy_ should be noted with his list of transgressions. Thus, he sauntered over and sat beside the girl he had always been in love with, but could never admit because Bad-Asses _do not fall in love_. Duh. "Have you figured out how _hawt_ I am, yet?" he asked impatiently. He ran a hand through his hair, knowing how it made him more attractive in her eyes.

She gasped. "John?" she squeaked, her eyes finding his. "Johnny? Pyro? Johnny Allerdyce? Traitor? 'Dyce? Fluffy-kins? Sergeant Major Asshole?"

He grit his teeth against the onslaught of words, because Bad-Asses did _not_ show emotion. "Stick with Pyro, idiot."

She glared. "Ah'm not an idiot," she protested.

He shook his head. "Are you ready to admit that you want me?"

Marie thought about it for a moment. "Why should I?" she challenged.

John's eyes alit with passion. Because you could _totally_ read his irises like a mood ring. "Because I'm a Bad-Ass."

Without another thought, Marie threw herself at the taller man, clamping her full and luscious lips atop his own. He gripped her up in a fierce embrace, his fingers teasing and setting her skin ablaze. After forcing her to think of every metaphor that dealt with heat and fire, she pushed away from him with enough force to send them both staggering, her gloved appendages touching her bruised mouth. "Why aren't you dead?" she whispered, referring to the powers that had returned shortly after taking the _Cure_. The Vibes-O-Doom (trademarked) that had left her upon Johnny's arrival returned tenfold, scooping up adults and nearby children alike. Blood-curdling screams masked the angry bolts of thunder slashing through the clouds. He eyed those flailing limbs of dark mist with hunger; she could give him an _awesome_ hand job with those.

"Because I got it like that," he murmured in a tone far too husky to be anything but a declaration of his desire for her.

Three hundred and thirty-six hours later found the two would-be lovers tired and sore from going at it like rabbits for so long. They stayed in a dingy little motel room that he paid for, in spite of the fact that his Brotherhood Organization had been completely destroyed at Alcatraz and he didn't do anything these days besides wander around, acting like the Bad-Ass that he was. Sure, Magneto would be back some day… but in the meantime, there wasn't a single dime to his name. Regardless, he still paid for it, because he was the man. This is what men did.

They had some serious conversations and eventually got over the fact that he had betrayed the X-Men; they figured out what they wanted out of life, decided not to wonder about the random loop-hole in her powers—meaning, no one really knew why she could only touch _him_—and realized that as long as you can have _really good sex_, it didn't matter what the future held in store.

And then she decided to get pregnant. Which meant that he would have to _marry_ her.

So they got married. People cried, love was made and John was still a Bad-Ass. A Bad-Ass _with heart._ They bought a house with a white picket fence and raised their children with love and care until Marie or John randomly dies, just to add some angst to the whole scenario. The surviving spouse—probably Marie—lives the rest of their days enshrouded in a Dark-Cloud-O-Doom (not really trademarked), devouring babies in their sleep.

**T H E . E N D**

_...Or is it?_**  
**

**AFTERWORD:** I hoped you… liked it? If you didn't… well then, join the club. Just having a bit of fun, as I am probably guilty of using the same premises. Didn't make any sense? _That was the point._ I accept your Hellfire and flames with open arms. If you have a sense of humor… then you probably hated this anyway.

This is un-beta'd and completely done on a whim. This is the first and only draft, so mistakes will probably litter this piece of fiction. Ah, well. What will be, will be.


End file.
